Butterflies
by M4R1N4 R4CU
Summary: Ivan Braginsky, a child living in the Kiev region of ancient Kievan Rus, finds an unlikely friend. But everything is about to change, for good and for bad...
1. Where It All Began

Chapter One

The Sun was setting – I say setting because it seemed to be setting its bed in the soft, interminable depths of the clouds. The sky was fire-coloured, reflecting itself in the dirty patches of snow still remaining in March. It had been a cold year.

If you had a bird's eye view of the small Russian village where our story takes place, you would have seen a small, blond boy with large eyes, running about from bare tree to bare tree, in a carefully patched coat and pants that were quite too small for him. Every now and then, he would stop, drop to his knees and begin digging.

If you had a bird's eye view of the small boy, you might have thought he was either quite hungry or quite mad. He was neither.

However, if you had a _storyteller's_ eye view of Ivan, the small boy, I assure you, your Ivan-directed thoughts would flow an entirely different way.

Ivan was searching for hidden treasure.

Being very young, about nine or ten physically, he did not know that, at the level and random search areas he was digging in, he didn't have much of a chance. _Neither_ did he know that he was about to find it, be the chances one in a million. The treasure that Ivan was about to find was very different from the one that he expected to find and was envisioning – but much more valuable.

Now that you, reader, and Ivan are suitably introduced, let me return to my narrative.

Exhausted from his treasure hunt, Ivan sank to the ground under a tall, gnarled tree, let out a low whistle and ran his half-frozen fingers through his hair.

He was still thinking about his treasure. Oh, how the thought of fame and fortune, hidden but possibly right beneath him, haunted his mind! „When I find my treasure-" (for there was no question of NOT finding a treasure) „I'll buy the warmest gloves in Russia, warmer than the tsar's!"

The excited, red-cheeked boy was so absorbed in designing the perfect gloves that he didn't notice a yellow-brown caterpillar crawl up his leg.

But what he DID notice, to his dismay, was a shrill cry of „Ivaaaan! Come in NOW, it's dinner-time!"

Reluctantly, Ivan rose to his feet and started trudging towards the cottage where he, his older sister Anya and baby sister Natalia, who wasn't really his biological sister but his cousin, lived together. He didn't have a mother or a father, like most the other boys in the village did, but that was just the way things had been, as far back as he could remember. Anya had never spoken about the reason, and Ivan didn't dare ask, so he had always blamed it on sickness. But he'd never thought about it much, as Anya was just like a mother - kind, caring, hard-working, and a master in the art of annoying calls to come inside.

As he plodded through the frozen grass and muddy snow, he became gradually aware that something was tickling his leg.

„Oh no," Ivan thought, hoping it wasn't some nasty bug or insect. He bent down swiftly to check what it was, but before he had the time to spot anything, Anya's voice resounded again, „COME IN!" making him jump and hurry up just a little. As Anya's head, complete with faded red headscarf, peeked out from behind the door, Ivan broke into a run.

„I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called, waving his arm in the air. The tickle was moving up his pant leg now.

By now Anya, wrapped in a shawl, had stepped into the tiny front yard and was walking towards him.

Ivan gulped. Anya would never leave the warm house for no apparent reason in the cold Russian spring, unless something was seriously wrong.

Trotting up to Ivan, Anya laid a slim hand on his shoulder, holding him fast. Those hands didn't look like much but they could chop wood, knead black bread, and carry heavy pails any day. Anya had a very strong grip.

She turned him around to face her.

„Where have you been all day?" she scolded, half-leading, half-dragging Ivan toward that prison, his home.

„Heh, heh... _Zdravstvuyte_ , Anya," Ivan stuttered, smiling guiltily. „I was...I was..."

„I hope you weren't out hunting for that treasure of yours again," she interrupted him. „You were going to break the soil today, _remember_?"

„No, I was supposed to do that yesterday," Ivan bravely but feebly attempted.

„Yes," Anya let out with an exasperated sigh, „but when I was angry with you for not doing it yesterday, you promised me to do it today." She looked about ready to burst into tears. „What am I to do with you? Where have you been all day?!"

Ivan hesitated. He couldn't tell Anya he'd been treasure – hunting, that much was obvious. But hadn't Markov the Priest told him that lying was a sin, and that little children who lied would go to hell when they died?

„When I find my treasure," Ivan murmured, „I'll buy the strongest shovel in all of Russia and garden every day..."

Anya sighed heavily and hauled him inside, slamming the door behind them.

„Ivan, there _is_ no treasure," she angrily told him. „Now go back and bring me some wood for the fire, since you seem to like the outdoors so much... THEN and only then you can come back for dinner, and don't forget to wash your hands in the wooden bucket."

As the creaking door swung shut behind him, Anya added „And if I find you hunting for treasure again when you have things to do, you'll catch it from me."

Ivan knew she was bluffing, but fortunately had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. He knew he'd done enough talking-back for the day.

It was almost night-time now, and so cold it made Ivan gasp. Sending him out to gather wood and wash his hands in the well-bucket, in the water that was probably colder than ice in this weather, was Anya's most usual way of punishing him. Poor dear, she could never quite bring herself to hit him, so she sent him to punish himself, in a way. Perhaps that is why Ivan did not fear or respect her enough to obey her without question.

He rarely did.

As usual, Ivan did not mind Anya's 'punishment' in the least. Now at last he had a chance to find the source of the tickle that had been driving him mad all through Anya's scolding... hoping that nobody was watching, Ivan stuck his hand down his pant leg.

When he felt something squishy and wormlike crawling up his left leg, he jerked his hand away in surprise, but then, with increasing curiosity, put it back.

The mysterious tickle was a caterpillar that had found a warm place, a shelter from the freezing Russian weather. Ivan smiled and let the critter crawl around his hand, shielding it from the cold with his other hand.

„You _are_ sort of cute," he whispered gently, watching the brown caterpillar crawl around. The caterpillar turned its head toward Ivan as if looking at him, as if thanking him for the compliment...

And from that moment, Ivan knew he had found a friend.

Suddenly, Ivan remembered that he had a ‚job' to do. Knowing Anya would go out of her mind if she found a caterpillar in the house, which she prided herself on keeping brilliantly tidy at any time, Ivan quickly shoved his friend down his pocket and started collecting wood at record speed.

Once this task was complete, Ivan,, knowing that a wash in the wooden well-bucket would set his already-freezing hands throbbing for minutes, headed over to the barn. He laid his large offering of firewood beside him and dunked his hands into the cow's trough, even though he knew it wasn't the best place to wash his hands. Rubbing his grimy hands together heartily, he mentally declared that the animals' water, shielded by the sturdy wooden walls, was infinitely warmer than the wooden bucket. He then scooped up the bundle of sticks and headed for the small cottage.

Suddenly, a thought flashed across his mind (which was rare, as Ivan's unwritten life motto was 'do first, think later'). If he was letting Anya believe that he had washed his hands in the wooden bucket by the gate, but had actually washed them in the trough, was that not lying, too?

With a deep breath, Ivan sprinted towards the wooden bucket. He laid his firewood down again, and, albeit hesitantly, dunked his hands into the ice-cold water.

He sucked in his breath at the bite of the freezing water and jerked them out almost immediately. As he blew on his fingers desperately, his conscience whispered, much more quietly now _She said WASH your hands Ivan, NOT dip them in._

Was it really necessary? Ivan asked himself in dismay. He looked at his hands, and they seemed clean enough.

 _But if you're going to do something, do it all the way,_ his conscience pleaded. (As is becoming clearer, I am sure, Ivan had a very strong sense of conscience.)

So Ivan scrubbed at his hands with the sand in the smaller bucket beside the wooden one (oh, how Ivan detested that bucket! It was like his own personal cup of suffering). He then reluctantly rinsed his hands out with the ice-cold water.

„I didn't lie," Ivan triumphantly told himself. With a half-smile spreading across his red-cheeked face, he scooped up his firewood and returned to the house.

Never once did he think of hiding the caterpillar as lying.


	2. A Midnight Mission

Chapter Two

Ivan had pushed his chair ever so slightly until it was close enough to the fire that he could warm his red, throbbing palms by it. Anya, who was uncharacteristically quiet, was ladling warm beef stew into their bowls. Every now and then her eyes, so large and blue, strayed over to the blond, tousled-haired boy by the fire, and she'd bite her lip. It wasn't easy being the mother he'd lost.

„Ivan," she called, almost pleadingly. „Come eat with us."

„I'm not hungry," Ivan replied. He was actually feeling quite cheery, and the throbbing pain in his hands had somewhat subsided. But Anya bit her lip again and tried not to run over to him and apologise. She _had_ had a reason to punish him, had she not?

Anya was too good-natured for her own good.

She sighed and shoved a spoon of soup into little Natalia's mouth. The pretty child swallowed it and laughed.

„Anya, I want to go to bed," Ivan said. He tried to fake a yawn, realised it indeed sounded truly fake, and blushed three shades of pink. Apparently, no matter how hard he tried, Ivan was neither good at telling the truth, nor at lying.

Anya glanced back at him and had to stifle a smile at Ivan's obviously trumped yawn.

„Of course, of course," she replied. „And tomorrow morning you'll ask me for more food because you went to bed on an empty stomach. _Nyet_. If you so dearly want to go to bed, you'll eat first."

Ivan shrugged and pulled his chair over to the table, dragging it across the floor as noisily as he could, knowing that it drove his sister crazy. But this time, to his dismay, she offered no reaction.

As Ivan tucked into his stew, Anya relievedly stated „I thought as much," although, truthfully, she hadn't.

She dunked Natalia's spoon into the soup again and fed it to her. The stew was, indeed, very tasty, as Anya was a skilled cook and knew how to make the most out of what she had, which was never too much.

In fact, it was rather too tasty for Natalia, who swallowed it entirely too quickly. Anya herself did not notice the little girl gurgling uncomfortably until she finally projectile-vomited it up – onto Ivan's clothes.

„AAAH! Gross!" Ivan yelled, staring at the disgusting mess on his shirt and pants.

The motherly girl flew immediately into action, deciding Natalia had had quite enough. She quickly ordered Ivan, who still looked disgusted, to stand by the fire as she picked up Natalia in her arms and carried her to the adjacent returned without the flustered child, carrying Ivan's nightshirt.

„You get your wish," she deftly stated, whipping his shirt off him. „If you don't want to eat after _that_ I don't blame you. You can go straight to bed." Before Ivan had a chance to protest, she swiped his dirty pants off too, leaving him only in his thick woollen underclothes. She handed him his rough homespun nightshirt and ordered him to put it on.

Ivan didn't need to be told twice. Shivering, he pulled the nightgown over his head and squirmed into it. Anya gave him a faint smile and scurried off, pants, shirt, caterpillar and all.

It was nighttime, it was cold, and Ivan was worried. Had Anya handled his trousers carefully enough that the caterpillar was still alive? Was Natalia very sick? Would his white-blond baby sister be alright?

Swimming through Ivan's mind, like dewdrops captured in a curved fern, were doubts and childish fears, all crowded together and constantly introducing themselves so loudly that Ivan's sleep stubbornly refused to come to him.

There was nothing for it. He had to save his caterpillar from the heartless pants that imprisoned him. But what would Anya say if she caught him prowling around the house so late at night? Likely as not, it wouldn't be a pretty sight. No, he had to be careful. Careful and very, very quiet.

He knew that if he threw his heavy woollen blanket off at once, quickly, he'd become cold immediately. So instead he pulled it off gradually, so as to let himself adapt to the cold. When he had finished, he realised that it really wasn't very cold at all. His wood had done the trick!

Encouraged by this sign that the Lord God was not angry at him, Ivan crept down the ladder that led from his loft to the bottom of the country cottage. It was so dark he could hardly see the rungs in front of him. That was a bad sign - it meant Anya had already gotten up to blow out the lamps. (Little Natalia couldn't get to sleep in the dark; she'd cry and whine until Anya gave in and lighted a candle or two.) In which case, she was probably awake!

Ivan looked down at the place where the floor would be and paused, listening for any sounds of tossing or stirring. Upon having heard none, he purposed to carry out his mission to the end rather than dash back up the ladder to the safety of his loft.

When his bare foot finally touched the cold floor, he silently hopped onto the ground and stole over to the adjacent room, where Anya and Natalia slept.

Just as he was standing in front of the door to the other room, dithering as he debated whether or not to risk awaking his sisters should it creak, he remembered that Anya always stowed the basket of laundry under the table. Tidy, out of sight.

Ivan decided not to risk a sigh of relief and simply tip-toed over to the table.

Since when did the floor creak so loudly? Ivan had never before left his loft to do something so secret before . He felt as if every eye in the world was fixed on him as he crept down to the table, one silent step, two silent steps, three, four...

Success! Ivan almost kissed the basket of laundry when he reached it. But his heart was pounding like a mountain hailstorm, and all he wanted to do was get down, get the caterpillar and get back.

Ivan rummaged through the dirty laundry, holding each item of clothing gently between his thumb and forefinger so as not to squish his pet, feeling each one to see if it was his pair of pants.

When he finally found the trousers, (luckily he was the only boy in the family and therefore the only owner of pants,) he shot up, banged his head on the corner of the table and had to stifle a yelp. But just as he was reaching for a candle and some matches, he heard a rustling sound; and then, footsteps!

Ivan froze on the spot.

„Ivan, what on earth are you doing?" lilted Anya's sleepy voice from the other room.

„I..." Ivan wracked his brain for an answer. „Well, you took my pants away really quickly so I couldn't tell you there was something still in the pocket..." Ivan trailed off. He desperately hoped Anya wouldn't question him further or, even worse, ask to see the ‚something still in the pocket.'

„Oh...fine. Go back to bed now."

Ivan didn't need a second warning.

„Yes, Anya, right away," he enthused.

Anya mumbled something, and then all was silent. Ivan's tense muscles relaxed immediately. He snatched up the pants, the light and the candle, after which he shot out from under the table and up the ladder to his loft like a hyperactive squirrel. What he _really_ was: a hyper-frightened child.

The comforting squish and rustle of his straw mattress felt like a wave of relief to poor Ivan. Without wasting a single moment, he lit the candle and, heart beating wildly, fishing around his trousers pocket for the caterpillar.

Ivan had never been happier to see a caterpillar in his pants pocket then he was that night.

„You're alright!" Ivan said, almost squealing with joy. The caterpillar sleepily flipped around Ivan's palm.

Suddenly, Ivan had a thought. Where could he hide his pet? It had to be a place that he couldn't wriggle out of, somewhere Anya would never find him...

Ivan sat down on his bed and thought hard for a while. He searched and searched for the key to solving his dilemma, but his mind was blank. Sadly Ivan looked down at the brown bug nestling down in his soft hand for a midnight nap.

„If I can't, find a place to keep you, you'll have to go," he whispered. „Please don't be mad...?"

Suddenly, a memory flashed across his mind. A tall, brown-haired young man with blue eyes, like Anya's. He and Anya had been together for a while – that is, before he went to the great dark forest north of the stream to chop wood and never returned. The men of the village found his body later – attacked by a bear, they said.

Ivan had liked the man – his name was Oleg. Anya had liked him too, very much, and she had been inconsolable for a while after his death. Besides the love that they both so obviously shared, in the hope of marriage to Oleg, Anya saw the possibility of someone to help her, to care for her, to share with her the burden she should never have had to carry, thus making it lighter. All these hopes were dashed that day so long ago...

But Oleg had left them something, just a few weeks before the tragic incident – a little wooden box, which he'd made a present of to Ivan.

„That's where I'll keep you!" Ivan whisper-exclaimed. „Wait here."

Ivan laid the caterpillar down on his woollen blanket as he dug under his bed for the box. When he found it, he scooped up his caterpillar from the bed.

„It's the perfect home for you," Ivan declared, flipping the hatch open and sliding the caterpillar in.

Ivan looked on, with a satisfied smile on his face, as the caterpillar snoozed on the bottom of the box, all curled up. With one last glance at his pet, he closed the lid of the small wooden chest and slid the hatch back into place.

He gently pushed the chest back into its place under his bed. On the lid, two initials were carved: an _O_ and an _A_. Oleg and Anya.

„Oleg provided a home for you," Ivan thought, pretending Oleg could hear his mind. „So I think I'll name you after him."

Ivan stretched out on his bed, his head on his arms. Now that he thought about it, the name really suited him.

„Do you like your name?" Ivan asked Oleg again, thinking. And he knew that Oleg did, because that's how friends are sometimes – they hear each other's hearts, without having to utter a single word.


	3. The Wounds Of A Friend

Chapter Three

Morning finally came with a hearty shake.

„Get up, sleepy head!" Anya said, smiling. „It's Thursday, market day!"

Ivan sat bolt upright. „Are we going to sell eggs and milk as usual?"

„Yes, and something else too," Anya exclaimed. „I've been knitting some sweaters from that wool Mariya gave me. They are good enough to sell, don't you think?"

Anya spread her bundle out on Ivan's bed. Three white sweaters lay in a row on Ivan's bed.

„They're a little baggy I know, but they'll sell," Anya added hopefully. „It's still cold, and people need this sort of thing."

Ivan nodded. „They are made well," he said. „You'll sell all three of them for sure."

Anya smiled. „Do you want to come?"

All at once, Ivan remembered Oleg.

„N-no, really I feel a little sick," he replied. „Like a cold. I don't want it to get worse."

„Really," Anya questioned. „Well, it's no wonder, seeing as you were out in the cold all day yesterday," she added, trying to sound stern. „Alright then, but stay in bed or by the fire."

„Thank you, sister," Ivan said. He knew Anya had no way of knowing about Oleg, but all the same he felt as if the wooden box were leaping about below him, screaming out its location for all of Russia to hear.

„Now get dressed and come down for breakfast, let's not be lazy," she advised. „ _Davai_!"

After breakfast Ivan watched as Anya, wrapped in her omnipresent red shawl and thickest coat, carrying baby Natalia in her arms, stepped out of the house. Andriy the Baker always loaded the three of them into his wagon on market days, as they didn't have one of their own. He was a kindly man who pitied the three children, having to scrape around to make ends meet. He helped Anya onto the wagon and plonked her eggs, milk and sweaters next to her.

„Don't leave the house, Ivan," she called out, as the bay mare attached to the baker's wagon began plodding along the dusty road. „And stay safe!"

„Don't worry!" Ivan called after her, although he doubted that she could hear him.

As soon as the baker's wagon disappeared down the path, Ivan fished around under his bed for the wooden chest. He opened it and took Oleg out.

„Good morning, Master Oleg," Ivan solemnly greeted him. „And how have you slept?"

Oleg crawled one inch and curled up on Ivan's index finger.

„Are you mad, Oleg?" Ivan asked aloud.

Oleg refused to move, so Ivan shook his finger a little so Oleg fell onto Ivan's bed. Ivan thought a little.

„Ah, you must be hungry!" Ivan exclaimed. „See, I've already eaten breakfast, but you have not, little friend..."

Ivan left Oleg on the blanket and looked through the loft window. His friend, Vasily was carrying a bucket of water from the stream.

„Oy, Vasily!" Ivan yelled.

Vasily looked up toward the source of the voice.

„What do caterpillars eat?" he called.

Vasily looked startled. „Why?" he asked.

„I can't tell you now," Ivan readily responded. „Come on, tell me!"

„You're not planning more mischief are you Ivan?" the blasted goody-two-shoes worriedly replied. „Why didn't you just ask your sister?"

„She hates caterpillars," Ivan explained. „And no, I'm not planning mischief. I need it for a friend."

„Really?" Vasily suspiciously questioned.

Ivan nodded vigourously.

„Well, why do you think she hates caterpillars?" the idiot retorted.

Ivan was getting impatient. „Oh I don't know," he snapped. „Would you just answer me if you know, or if you don't at least stop pretending you do! What are you trying to do, look smart?"

Vasily snorted. „If I weren't smart, why would you ask me?" his voice softened a little. „Look Ivan, I've got to bring this to my mamma. After that, I'll come over to your place and see for myself, alright? Can I come over?"

„Yes, Anya didn't say I couldn't see anyone," Ivan eagerly responded. „She's at the market with Andriy the Baker now, I'm alone."

„Oh, alright then, I'll come," said the boy. He began sprinting over in the direction of his house, when suddenly he stopped. „Wait, Ivan, one more thing!"

„What?"

„If you're home alone, like you told me, who's this 'friend' who asked you what caterpillars eat? Are you _lying_ to me?"

Ivan shut the window on him.

„So, who's this friend of yours?" Vasily questioned excitedly. „Can I see him?"

Ivan blushed. „Umm...well..."

„I KNEW it!" Vasily exclaimed. „Your friend doesn't even exist! You were lying!"

„I don't lie," Ivan replied, struggling desperately to keep his cool. „I can show him to you – if you swear to keep your mouth shut about it. And..." Ivan looked uncomfortable, „please don't laugh?"

„I don't laugh," Vasily zealously urged. „I promise. Show me now!"

„Well, alright," the reluctant Ivan consented. He dug under his bed for the wooden chest.

„You keep your friend under your bed?" Vasily exclaimed. Ivan ignored him.

„Here," Ivan said in a tiny, embarrassed voice. Vasily peered in at the caterpillar.

„Ah, your friend is a caterpillar?" the boy asked. „Ah, now I see what you meant when you said that you needed it for a friend."

„You're not laughing?" Ivan incredulously said.

„Didn't I say I wouldn't?" Vasily replied. „And it's nothing funny. I once had a pet mouse in the attic, but mother found it and it wasn't pretty."

Really? Vasily the angel, the pride of his parents, once went against his mother's wishes?

Ivan cringed. „I can see how that would be," he said.

„ _Da_ , it didn't end well...so yes, caterpillars eat your sister's vegetables. That's why she hates them."

„He can have mine," Ivan replied, pulling a face. „Do they also eat leaves and grass and things like that?"

„Yes, I think so."

„Well that's good. Easy to find."

„Hey, Ivan?"

„Yes?"

„Why a caterpillar?" Vasily exclaimed. „They are such common, lowly creatures! I mean, a snail, maybe. A beetle, a butterfly..."

„Because..." Ivan paused undecidedly, unsure how to respond. „Because when most people get a pet, someone smaller and weaker than they, someone to nurture and love, they know that they need this kind of love in their lives...so _they_ find someone whom they can give their love to, or who can return it. But Oleg obviously needed _me_...because I didn't find him, he found me."


	4. A Sermon, But It Bode No Good

Chapter Four

Friday and Saturday passed by uneventfully and, as for Anya finding Oleg, she had no reason or chance to. In fact, if anything she had less reason than ever to suspect Ivan of mischief; for Ivan was slowly becoming a new person.

For one, he stopped running off to look for treasure. He began helping more around the house; he swept and stirred, he chopped and stocked wood, and he finally broke the soil. Anya was dumbfounded and attributed it to the healing qualities of her stew.

Finally, Saturday evening descended upon Sankt Alexi, shrouded in spring mists and the aroma of freshly baked bread. Ivan was in his nightgown and sitting beside the fire, watching Anya slide the loaves into the earthen oven.

„Anya," he asked, „Is it true that there is no treasure here?"

Confused for a moment, Anya suddenly remembered that night three days ago when she had exasperatedly told him 'Ivan, there _is_ no treasure...'. Her heart sank. Just when she had thought he had finally abandoned his childish fantasies of riches and comfort...

But then again, she thought, had she any right to take them away from him? Let him be a child for as long as he was one; the hardships and disappointment of adult life were plentiful, and nobody knew that better than Anya. Plentiful, and simply waiting for a chance to take away innocence and replace it with...well, with an adult's life.

„I am sorry I said that," she quietly answered. „To tell you the truth, I really don't know. I was just angry with you...there could be, I mean, nobody knows everything, except God..." Anya crossed herself and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, shoving the last loaf of bread into the oven.

„I think I've found it," Ivan murmured to himself, his eyes lighting with the joy of discovery.

„Hmm...?" Anya mumbled tiredly, slumped against the wall on a chair.

„I've found the treasure," he repeated, louder this time.

„What do you mean?" Anya inquired, startled.

Ivan pushed his chair over to Anya's, this time making sure not to drag it across the floor. Without any warning, he threw his arms around her and hugged her.

„Anya, the treasure is love!" he declared. „Love and friendship and our family, that is the treasure!" Anya looked down at him, amazed.

„Now that I obey you more, I don't make you sad or angry anymore...and even though I stopped digging, I found your love instead. That's the treasure!"

Tears of happiness were forming in Anya's eyes. „Vanya, I love you too," she whispered, hugging him back. „Forgive me if I don't always show it, I..." She trailed off and hugged him tighter. Natalia giggled from her wooden crib, just waiting for someone to pay attention to her, so Anya got up slowly and reverently, afraid to shatter the moment, and picked up the baby. They all embraced each other, holding each other tight in the sacred silence – but perhaps the sweet moment meant most to Anya, the hard-working teenaged sister who struggled so hard to keep up the family. For as she held her two siblings to her, she knew that, united as a family by the strongest bonds in the universe – love and mutual respect – they could face anything that the world threw at them.

Morning came in an exasperating flurry of rising as the cocks crowed all over the village, dressing in their best clothes and getting Natalia to calm down long enough for Anya to get the basket of food for the priests ready. It was as if the warm, peaceful atmosphere had vapourously dissipated so completely that it had left no trace, save the sweet, fragrant memory that it had embedded in each heart.

„Ivan, do stop moping about and help me with the basket!" Anya ejaculated, with a sleepy edge to her voice.

„Yes, Anya, I'm coming!" he called, dashing to her side. „What do you need help with?"

„Help me load the bread into the basket, there are two more loaves in the oven," she answered. Ivan dashed off and returned quickly with the two loaves. He had brought them wrapped in a towel, making sure Anya would have no reason to complain. Disgruntled as she had woken that morning, this only seemed to irritate her more – but for the sake of the tender boy who had hugged her and spoken to her of love the last night, she tried her best to contain it.

„Yes, yes, good thing you remembered at last," was all that she found to say. Ivan smiled to himself. How well he knew his sister!

„Now, please hold Natalia or play with her or something, keep her quiet as I get her dressed," she yawned. Through the small windows of the cottage, the cold blackness of the early morning sky was slowly lifting, giving way to a deep royal blue, tinged and threaded through with the orange-tinted stratus clouds of the dawn.

Ivan picked Anya up tenderly as Anya had taught him how and petted her childlike blond curls. „Natalia, I have a secret to tell you, but since you can't talk yet, I don't need to tell you to tell no one." Natalia carried on with her sniffing and tears, but her babyish sobs subsided somewhat. „I have a little pet," he explained in an almost inaudible whisper. „His name is Oleg, like Anya's sweetheart, remember? He's a little brown caterpillar, and he's very fun to watch...he eats leaves and grass, and cabbage that I didn't want from dinner two days ago...and he is fond of little children."

As the sleepy, grumpy baby listened to her older brother's soft voice, his soothing whispers comforted her mind, and she gradually drifted into a tranquil, milder state. When Anya came over to dress and wrap her warmly, to protect her small body from the crisp morning, the usually fussy baby made no protest. She didn't even squirm.

„Getting her dressed in the mornings is normally such a trying task," the dumbfounded girl remarked. „I wonder, how did you make her so calm?"

„Well, I only whispered in her ear, really," Ivan uncomfortably mumbled.

„What did you tell her?" Anya wanted to know.

Ivan blushed heavily. „Well...stupid things. I...I told her that caterpillars eat grass and leaves and cabbage and that they're fond of children..."

Anya looked confused for a moment, but then simply shrugged, putting on her heavy linen cloak. „If it got her so calm, I shan't complain," she said, stepping out the door. „Who can understand the mind of a child?"

Ivan's legs ached with tiredness as he stood, thoroughly bored, before the kneeling pews in the small, wooden village church. As Priest Markov crooned on with the interminable service, with an occasional sneeze interrupting the flow of the Scripture reading, Ivan's mind drifted randomly to other subjects. Had Vasily managed to fix that kite of his? Was Oleg feeling lonely? When had Alexandr Teyovich Markov gotten such a serious cold?!

Ivan looked over at Vasily, standing stock-still two rows ahead of him. His eyes were firmly fixed on the sneezing, red-nosed priest as his mouth moved constantly and his hands oscillated between turning the pages of the cloth-bound bible and blowing his nose into his thoroughly used handkerchief. Ivan stomped his feet; he needed new shoes, the cold was seeping in easier and easier as the years slipped by. But Vasily never moved an inch, he looked like a prim, snub-nosed statue. He was so well-behaved, that Vasily! Every grown-up in the village of Sankt Alexi said he was a ‚true jewel', but it never went to his brown-haired head, the little angel! Ivan mentally snorted.

Thorougly sick of staring at the pious little statue ahead of him, Ivan attempted to fix his eyes on the priest as well, but his bearded face was so plain, so completely immemorable that it gave Ivan an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach just looking at it. Ivan looked over at the other young Ivan of the village, Ivan 'Volkyushka' as the other village children nicknamed him. The _volk_ part of his nickname came from his father's trade – he hunted wolves and made thick coats of their pelts. The diminutive was a sarcastic suffix that Ivan and Vasily had fixed to the nickname – sarcastic because Ivan Volkyushka was the cruellest, worst-natured boy in the village. An endearing diminutive at the end of his name was like the word 'Little' in Little John.

Volkyushka, beside the fact that he was almost a head taller than Ivan, was also strong, angry and dim as an ox. He hated his sneering nickname and had a bone to pick with Vasily and Ivan, who had come up with it. Nobody used it in front of him if they had any brains at all - well, none of the village children did.

But when the strong lads took off in their wagons, to the big cities to sell the beeswax and honey that the Kyiv region of their country was so famous for, they'd call out, "Goodbye, Mama! Goodbye, little Nikolenka, you'll be joining us someday! Oh, and goodbye, Volkyushka!".

Ivan Volkyushka's temper was something to be reckoned with...and there was always something to trigger it.

He especially seemed to have a grudge on Ivan, who bore the same name as he but no such nickname. He constantly jeered at and grinded on Ivan whenever he met him, and Ivan sincerely loathed him.

Priest Markov had said once in one of his sprawling sermons that when someone strikes you, you must turn the other cheek, meaning that you should never repay evil with evil but only with meekness. But Ivan was as sick of turning the other cheek as he was of being struck, and he knew that the day would come when he'd show Volkyushka that he couldn't simply treat everyone as he wished and go unpunished.

Priest Markov's singsongy voice was waning and growing more solemn – that usually meant the sermon was coming to a close. Hope rushed through Ivan's heart, and somewhere within him he found the patience to not fall asleep before it ended.


	5. Volkyushka

Chapter Five

With a relieved sigh, Priest Markov solemnly rolled out the words that all the congregation was hoping and praying for:

„In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen."

„Amen!" everyone heartily chorused, crossing themselves, some quicker and more impatiently, some slower and more reverently. Then, in a period of time trivial to the relieved Ivan, after the priest went through the motions of the remaining churchanisms, everyone rose, more than ready to observe the Fourth of the Ten Commandments.

Through the corner of his eye, Ivan saw Vasily making his way over to him. „Over here!" Ivan called, waving his hand so that Vasily could see him more clearly among the masses of pious churchgoers abandoning ship. By now, the cheery light of late morning was filtering through the slim church windows.

„ _Privyet_ , Ivan!" Vasily gladly exclaimed. „How is Oleg?"

„Very well, he's as active as always, eating well. Obviously not sick at all, no cold...unlike Markov," Ivan added with a whisper.

Vasily tried to hold back a laugh and failed. Both boys left the church building together, Ivan exaggeratedly imitating Priest Markov's guttural sneezes and Vasily looking about worriedly, begging him to stop in between peals of laughter.

As they sat down on the grass in the churchyard to wait for Anya, who had stayed behind to talk to the priest and hand him the donation of bread, milk and eggs, Vasily asked Ivan worriedly if Anya had found out about Oleg.

„Oh no," Ivan breezily replied. „She doesn't suspect a thing."

„You _are_ going to tell her soon, though, aren't you?"

Ivan started, taken aback. „Why would I do that?"

„Ivan! How could you? It's not fair to keep her thinking that you are obeying her as always, that you're being good, that you're praying to God to keep you from all evil while you are directly, and secretively at that, going against her wishes! That's a sin, it's like _lying_!"

Ivan, who had turned away from his friend as he listened to him ranting about sin as he often did, suddenly whipped around and, looking worried, propped his chin up between his hands.

„Really?" he questioned, dumbfounded. „It's like lying?"

„Of _course_!" Vasily exclaimed. „You didn't know?"

„ _Nyet_ ," Ivan quietly replied. „I truthfully didn't." He looked thoughtful for a moment, as an aggravating silence floated through the air.

„And..." Ivan finally said, breaking the silence, „If you lie you go to hell?"

„Yes. The only way you can fix it is to _tell Anya right away,_ " Vasily pressed, accentuating the last four words.

Vasily's answer hung in the air.

„Alright," Ivan replied in the end. „I don't have a choice. I'll tell Anya at home."

„That's good, and God will forgive you," Vasily smiled, „Just make sure you tell her the whole truth, not half of it, and pray for forgiveness."

Ivan looked behind him, through the white church's window. Anya was still talking with the priest.

„You should go to her," Vasily remarked.

Ivan nodded his head and took off at a sprint towards the church, but suddenly something caught his foot, making him lose his balance and trip, falling sprawled in the hardened, muddy snow. Ivan groaned and tried to pick himself off the ground, but a heavy foot pushed him back down. Ivan struggled against the weight and, unable to do so, turned his head to see who it was that was holding him down.

He found himself looking up into the cold blue eyes of Volkyushka.

„Let me go," he feebly said. „You're dirtying my clothes – my sister will have a fit."

The older boy ignored him. „What were you and goody-two-shoes talking about?"

„That's not your business," Ivan retorted, starting to get angry. He had answered meekly enough to the boy who had tripped him and kicked him in the back – if Volkyushka continued to treat him so badly, Ivan had a right to get mad, hadn't he?

„Oh, it isn't? My apologies!" Volkyushka sneered. He kicked Ivan again and dropped to the ground, holding Ivan to the ground by the shoulders, which he was strongly gripping with his disproportionately large hands. „What do you need to tell Anya?"

„Leave me ALONE!" Ivan exclaimed, struggling against the bully's grip. „For God's sake, we are in a churchyard, you can't hit me in a churchyard! We'll both get into trouble!" Ivan's anger was mounting. How dare Volkyushka hit him like that, for no reason? It wasn't fair!

„Think for once in your life, _Volkyushka,_ " said Ivan fearlessly.

„What did you say, you little bastard?"

„You just swore in a churchyard, _Volkyushka,_ and unless you let me go, someone might tell Priest Markov, who might tell your father," Ivan sweetly replied, filled with the pleasure of revenge.

„You're not telling anyone," Volkyushka furiously declared. „If you don't want a mouth with no teeth in it, you'll keep it shut."

„Oh no I won't," Ivan whispered. His back was beginning to ache so badly that simply lying down on it was agony. „If you hit me again, Priest Markov will have yet another little piece of information for your father's ears."

Volkyushka had clearly had enough. His eyes bored holes through Ivan's, and his mouth had gathered together into a straight line. Every feature of his face radiated pure contempt.

He lifted his fist and, anger blinding him to the truth in all of the boy's threats, struck him hard in the nose.

Ivan yelped with pain and clutched his bleeding nose. Just as he was staring up hatefully at his tormentor and opening his mouth to insult him again, to show him he wasn't afraid, Volkyushka must have spotted his father because he immediately dashed away.

Vasily, who had been watching worriedly from behind a tree, rushed to him immediately.

„Are you alright, Ivan?" he questioned.

„I-I'm fine," Ivan mumbled. „Stop fussing like a girl."

„You shouldn't have insulted Volkyushka," the insufferable goody-two-shoes immediately told him. „That was dumb."

Ivan was getting mad. He had just been punched by an older boy and he was still in pain, and all Vasily could find to do was criticize? Why didn't anyone ever leave him alone?

„At least it was better than hiding behind a tree while your best friend was in trouble! That's one thing I'd never do!" he shot back. Trembling, Ivan got to his feet and ran off towards his house.


	6. The Calm Before The Storm

Chapter Six

Ivan was sitting, almost motionlessly, on his bed, holding Oleg in his hands.

„Sometimes it's like you're the only one who understands me," he whispered to Oleg. „But then again," he added, heaving a hopeless sigh, „you can't talk, so I can't be sure of that. The best friends are those that either can't talk, or care so much for you that they choose not to. Not like that Vasily," Ivan bitterly concluded. Vasily was and had always been his best friend, but now, in this desolate moment, to Ivan's inexperienced, sensitive mind, the dark shadow of anger had been cast over all that he held most dear in the world.

Suddenly, he heard the front door creak open beneath him. Frightened, he jumped off his bed and grabbed the wooden box, dumping Oleg unceremoniously into it. He could hear Anya climbing up the rungs of the ladder as he shoved the box under the bed.

He remained silent as Anya, silent and sad-looking, eased herself onto the straw mattress, sitting down beside her younger brother. The earsplitting silence hung in the dim room as Ivan looked away, trying desperately to hold in the tears that so fervently sought to burst forth. His head, nose and upper back throbbed painfully, but Ivan was damned if he'd show it.

Finally, heaving a quiet sigh, Anya broke the silence.

„Vanya, why did...the _older_ Ivan hit you?"

„Should...should I know what's in his brain? He got mad because I told him that if he didn't get off me I'd tell the priest."

Anya bit her lip. „Well..." she almost whispered, „Why was he holding you down?"

Ivan maintained a tense silence for a few seconds, in which a dull anger pounded out its dismal tune in his heart. Couldn't Anya just let him be?

„Oh, I don't know!" He finally burst out. „He just threw me to the ground and asked what..." Ivan trailed off, realising there was no way he could bring his discussion with Vasily without dimming the light of his innocence in Anya's eyes. Now was most definitely not the time to mention Oleg.

„What did he ask?" Anya gently pressed.

„Well, Vasily and I were just sitting on the ground talking-"

„On the ground? No wonder your clothes are so dirty!"

„No Anya, he kicked me to the ground and held me there with his _foot._ "

Anya simply sighed.

„He wanted to know what we were talking about," Ivan quietly responded. „I told him it was none of his business, so..."

„You shouldn't talk like that."

„Anya, I might have told him if he had asked normally, instead of tripping me, kicking me, insulting Vasily and _then_ asking!"

Anya smiled sadly. „I see...Ivan, what Volkyushka did was bad, but you can't repay evil for evil if you want to come out alright," she finally told him, thoughtfully reaching up to the small scar on her neck, well-hidden by the dual layers of her golden hair and headscarf.

Ivan chose to remain silent – he had gotten used to that idea, thanks to Vasily.

From downstairs, a knock resounded on the rough wooden door. „Thank you for letting me talk to you, Vanya," she quickly said, rising slowly and heading for the ladder, wrapping her headscarf tighter about her.

Ivan watched attentively as Anya climbed swiftly down the ladder. The second her feet hit the floor, Ivan reached under his bed for the small box.

A long-repressed tear slid down his cheek as he cupped his hands around Oleg and held him


	7. Disaster

Chapter Seven

Anya gingerly opened the door, wrapping her faded shawl tighter about her. Whoever had come, they had done so at the wrong time.

Framed in the golden afternoon glow stood Ivan 'Volkyushka' and his father, the pelt trader.

Volkyushka's father cleared his throat.

„I apologise for what happened this morning. I think you know what I am referring to," he added. Anya noticed that as he spoke, his deep-set eyes were glaring at his son. For once in his life Volkyushka was embarrassed and, therefore, meek and quiet.

„I appreciate your apology," Anya replied, an intentionally cool edge to her voice, as unspoken law demanded. However, with her eyes she reassured the merchant that she bore no grudge to his family, and that it was only his son that she was angry at. Volkyushka's father, whose name his son Ivan wore, silently thanked the girl for her understanding of the situation.

„I have brought Ivan over as I believe he has something to say to your brother." His intense, disdainful glare once again focused on the stocky boy, who lowered his head silently.

„Well," was all that Anya found as a reply. She opened the door wider and Ivan Volkyushka, head still down, stepped inside hesitantly.

„Step lively, boy, or you'll catch it," his father growled. With a start, Volkyushka began walking faster.

„I'd like to apologise to Ivan," Volkyushka said in an almost inaudible whisper.

Anya nodded silently and, stepping aside meekly, pointed to the ladder which led to the loft.

Volkyushka started climbing up it, reluctantly enough, as anyone could see. With a smile, Anya saw Volkyushka's father off. Ivan the Father tipped his fur hat to her winningly and stepped out, shutting the door behind him softly.

Anya turned, cautiously, back to Volkyushka just in time to catch the dangerous glimmer of resent in his icy eyes.

Ivan started as his door swung loudly open. In the doorway stood – Volkyushka!

„What are you _doing_ here?" he choked.

Volkyushka's face was set and unreadable, save for the sneering shine of his eyes. „I'm supposed to apologise to you," he slowly answered.

Ivan's eyes widened with fear. He could swear his bruises began to throb more vividly the second Volkyushka stepped in room.

„I don't want your apology," he finally replied, cupping his hands more tightly together, hoping against hope that Volkyushka had not seen Oleg. „Just – just go."

„Do you really think I just can, simple as that?" Volkyushka hissed, his voice lowered. „My father is harder to please than a tsar. He shall not be contented if we do not go down together, I to say I am sorry and you to forgive me."

„Do I look like I care?" Ivan retorted, savouring every word. „Just leave my room, now, go down and tell your donkey of a father that I forgave you. Because in truth I never shall."

Volkyushka's lips were tight with suppressed rage. „Don't you dare insult my father, you scum," he spat.

„Oh, you really are the smart one, you know," Ivan thoughtlessly continued. „If you think that the way to get someone to apologise to you is to - "

„I don't really, I'm just in a hurry," Volkyushka whispered. „I don't have time to get you to 'forgive' me the polite way, so I'll do it the quick way." Without another word, Volkyushka yanked at Ivan's wrist and effortlessly pried his hands open. Ivan gasped in horror as Volkyushka sneeringly dangled Oleg in the air.

„What's this? Little Ivana has gotten herself a pet _caterpillar,_ " he exclaimed, his whispers burning with contempt. „Repeat after me, Ivana: _I forgive you._ Out loud, loud enough for Anya to tell hear you and tell my father, so he can be satisfied. Or else I will squash your little _worm,_ Ivana."

Ivan froze, dismay clouding in his brain. All he felt in that moment was pure, effortless hate for Volkyushka. But there was nothing to do now, he realised. How could he let his personal pride get in the way of his friend's life? Sure, Volkyushka was a low-life, and Ivan had no reason or means by which to forgive him...but Oleg was more important.

His frantic mind drifted back to last night, when he had so deftly stated that love and friendship were the greatest treasure. Well, compared to the treasure Ivan had found in Oleg, his pride was like a rusted old coin.

„I forgive you," Ivan loudly said. His thin voice sounded out surer and clearer than he had expected to, and it surprised him as much as it did Volkyushka. He even almost smiled.

If only, if only he had known what old Mistress Fate had in store for him only one second ahead in his life, he would never have even thought of smiling.

Sometimes, even when it seems you've done it all right, when it seems you've cleared every problem away, when it seems you've won the battle for that which you love, one circumstance, all on its own, can bring your fortress of hope crashing down like a child's tower of blocks. And then, like the child, all that you're left with is your tears.

„Oh, thank you, Ivan!" Volkyushka sweetly replied.

And then, as if in slow motion, he let Oleg fall from his grip onto the floor. Then he lifted his boot-clad foot and, with a swift, downward motion, stamped on Oleg, sliding his foot back and forth to make sure he was really truly mashed.

„What..." Ivan said, dumbfounded. Volkyushka smiled innocently at him, opened the door of Ivan's spacious loft and, with a last wave, half-climbed, half-jumped down the ladder.

Unbelieving, Ivan stared at the stomach-turning remains of his caterpillar, ingloriously smeared across the wooden floor of his attic. He sank to his knees on the floor and, face buried in his heavy woollen blanket, began to cry noiselessly.

As his muffled sobs jerked painfully through his already-aching body, Ivan could hear, distorted and quietened, Anya's soft voice saying, „I'm glad you've apologised to my brother. He's a very kind boy, I'm sure he's already forgiven you."

All Ivan could feel was his heart aching and the soaked bedcover pressing into his tear-stained face.


	8. We All Have Wings

Chapter Eight

„Ivan?" Anya's voice called. „Can I come up?"

Ivan didn't want Anya to know he was crying, and much less so what he was crying about. He shot up, grabbed a handkerchief from the small shelf (also built by Oleg, Anya's lover) where he kept his few clothes and scooped up what was left of Oleg with it. Then, tenderly as he dared, he rolled it up quietly and slipped it into the wooden box which had once been his home.

„I – alright, if you want to," Ivan called down, trying to steady his voice.

„Ivan, are you alright?"

„I'm fine," he said tonelessly, too sad to be angry. He hoped that would keep her nose out of his business.

Nevertheless, he heard Anya's soft steps as she climbed the ladder. „Ivan – why are you crying?" she asked, the moment her face peered over the floor of the loft.

Suddenly Ivan remembered what Vasily had told him only an hour or so ago – that he must tell Anya about Oleg. Now was probably the best time, anyway, if he thought about it. So what was Anya going to do to his caterpillar, kill it?

„If I tell you, will you promise not to get mad at me?"

„I don't have to, I'm your older sister, I have a right to know!"

„Well..." Ivan was stuck.

„Will you at least promise to _try_?"

Anya sighed, a soft smile beautifully etching itself across her delicate features. „Alright, I'll try not to get angry," she said, a touch of gentle mocking to her voice.

„I had a caterpillar once," he began.

„Where, in here, in your loft?"

„Ye-e-es..."

„Where did you keep it?"

„ _Him,_ " Ivan pressed decisively. „In the box, that wooden one, on the shelf."

Anya's gaze strayed over to it. „The one... the one that Oleg made for you?"

„ _Da_ , that one."

„And what did you feed _him_?"

„Leaves, grass..." one more thing was pressing on his mind. He had fed Oleg unwanted vegetables many times. Anya would most likely be mad at him for that stunt...but then again, if he was getting Oleg off his chest, why not get his diet off his chest too, and kill two birds with one stone? Besides, Anya had promised not to get angry. „And vegetables I didn't want from dinner," he added, considerably quieter.

„What did you say?"

„I said 'vegetables I didn't want from dinner'!"

Anya started to be annoyed, but then quickly remembered her promise. She sighed.

„Very fine and good, but why didn't you tell me?" she insisted.

„I was afraid you'd be mad."

„Why would I be mad?"

Ivan was thunderstruck.

„We-e-ell...don't you hate caterpillars?"

„When they crawl around the house and _eat my vegetables_ , yes. But since you say you kept him in your little box..." Anya trailed off as her eyes tenderly settled on the two initials carved in cyrillic letters on the lid of the box.

„Oh..." Ivan said. „Well, please forgive me for not telling you earlier, I - "

„Did you ever give him a name?" she enquired.

„Yes," Ivan strongly replied. „I called him Oleg..."

Anya gave him a sad smile as she put her arm around him. „Well," she quietly asked, „can I – can I see him? I won't hurt him, I promise."

Ivan bit his lip and wiped the beginning of a tear away. „Yes, you can."

Anya slowly and, as Ivan later liked to think, tenderly, reached for the box on the shelf with his clothes and opened it.

All that greeted her gaze was a rolled-up handkerchief.

„Why did you roll him up? He won't be able to breathe!"

Ivan nodded and took the box from her. As he closed the lid, sliding the hatch into place with trembling fingers, the tears he had worked so hard to suppress since Anya had come once again burst the dam.

„I, I said I once _had_ a caterpillar," he sobbed. „Anya, leave the handkerchief...he doesn't need to breathe anymore! He's dead!" Ivan burst into tears again, burying his face in his knees.

Anya's eyes widened. „Vanya..." she whispered.

Then, without another word, she sat down beside Ivan and threw her arms around him. She stroked his hair, her eyes on him, but her mind was elsewhere...

Why had Ivan loved a mere caterpillar so passionately? It was beyond Anya's understanding, something she couldn't explain even with „Who can understand the mind of a child?" Unless...

Unless...he truly needed somebody to love that badly? Unless he was seeking a simple someone to pour his love into so desperately. Anya sighed sadly. Ivan had told her that the greatest treasure was love...yet in her desperate scrabble to work hard enough to keep them going, had she lost the treasure? Had she struggled too hard to escape poverty, thus ignoring the wealth she could have had?

Anya's heart ached to relive those countless hours, and replace dismissiveness with love...

And now, she knew it would never make up for it all, but she held Ivan close as she dared and said nothing. If Ivan wanted to speak, he would, and she'd let him do the talking.

When Ivan had settled down somewhat, Anya looked down at him once again, wondering what to do. She had no experience whatsoever in dealing with this sort of childhood woe. Also, she had never even dreamed that such a simple, introverted boy as Ivan could become so passionately attached to something as small and insignificant as a caterpillar. Once again, she bowed her head and, eyes closed, felt the ardent wish to be as the other daughters of Rus…

But she knew she wasn't, and never would be.

Her hand strayed up to her scar.

No, she would never be - and neither would Ivan.

"Vanya, dear little brother..." she whispered. The winds of silence carried the hoarse, almost inaudible whisper to Ivan, amplifying it as it did so.

As he turned his tearstained face to meet her pained gaze, Anya once again realised how fragile her brother was - how small and impressionable. Just like their beloved land…

"Vanya, do you know what butterflies really are?"

"I don't care," Ivan mumbled, his voice still choked even though the tears had long ceased to flow.

Anya bit her lip, as she always did when in doubt. No wonder, now that the crashing sea-storm of emotion in his mind had gradually morphed into a calm, whispering river of rapid thoughts, Ivan was embarrassed to have cried in front of his sister.

"All butterflies," she gingerly continued, "were once caterpillars...like Oleg." Anya paused, looked down at Ivan, and continued, "after a caterpillar has grown enough, it makes itself a small home in the branches of a sturdy tree. Then for a few months it falls asleep, and everyone thinks it is dead - "

Ivan's head was still buried in the fold of his arms, but Anya could easily tell that he was now listening hopefully.

"But then...God awakes it, and it comes out of its hiding place, and it has grown two beautiful wings!"

Ivan slowly raised his head to look at his older sister, awed.

"And then..." Anya's breath caught in her throat as she envisioned the wonderful miracle of nature.

"Then..." Ivan whispered. "Then it flies away, up into...the sky?"

Anya nodded jerkily, and draped her arm around Ivan's shoulder. "Every caterpillar," she whispered back, cheeks flushed, into his ear.

"Heaven is in the sky," Ivan slowly considered. "so, does that mean the butterflies go to heaven?"

"Yes, some..."

Ivan's eyes, alight with the superb glow of hope, turned first to the wooden box that had been his caterpillar's home…

And then up, to the sky, which was now his home. Joy molded his features into an innocent grin, which, combined with his tearstained countenance, made Anya's motherly heart swell with joy.

She inwardly gasped with relief.

Suddenly, the smile disappeared, and the magic was shattered. "Anya..."

"Yes?" she hastily answered, her voice filled with worry.

"You said all butterflies. But..but Oleg never became a butterfly! He never grew wings...to fly to heaven!"

His large eyes pierced Anya's, crying out for consolation.

Anya hesitated. _I just never can do anything right,_ she thought to herself. Why, oh why must she struggle so to impart the minimum of comfort to a soul in need?

She sighed and looked away.

But then, like the first ray of sunlight piercing the swirling mass of clouds on an overcast sky, after a storm, the answer came.

"Well..." Anya half-whispered as the entire universe narrowed down to the point where Ivan filled it all.

"Things are always the way they are meant to be," she continued, her heart beating faster and tears welling up in her eyes as memories of another loved one who had left her jumped to life in her mind. _Oh, Oleg..._

"Vanya, he's a butterfly in heaven." She wiped her eyes, biting her lip, desperately trying to suppress the flow of pent-up emotions.

"We all have wings...in heaven."


End file.
